


Night Out

by TsarinaTorment



Series: Fluffember [18]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Alcohol, Bar fights, Bars and Pubs, Concussions, Family, Fluff, Fluffember 2020, Gen, Hurt Scott, Military bros - Freeform, Platonic Cuddling, Pool, Protective Gordon, Swearing, fluffember
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27625496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: Gordon learnt two things that night: Scott was an affectionate drunk, and sometimes people throw bar stools for no good reason.
Relationships: Gordon Tracy & Scott Tracy
Series: Fluffember [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996258
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Night Out

**Author's Note:**

> #fluffember day 18 - ‘touch’ - and something a little different, mostly because janetm74 decided to call me out about whacking ‘unsuspecting characters’ with a chair of ‘pain and suffering’ and Nutty mentioned literally hitting them with a chair... I promise this is mostly fluff still! That Teen rating (Teen for a fluff fic? Tsari what are you doing?) is for language and alcohol, because we have two former military boys in a London pub.

Gordon couldn't recall the last time he'd gone out with Scott – _just_ Scott – for a reason that wasn't mission related. He'd hit the town with Alan (not that alcohol was allowed on those occasions, what with the kid being underage and all that) a few times, and Virgil on more than a few post-mission de-stressors, but Scott was always too busy for frivolous things like _having fun_.

No more. It had taken some convincing, a lot of wheedling, and the strong-arm combination of Grandma and Virgil, but a blissful forty-eight hours' downtime was being spent in England, just because they could. The gracious offer of being chauffeured around by Parker – made by her Ladyship, to the man's apparent disgruntlement – just made the choice all the easier. And what better way to unwind than a nice, rowdy night in the pub?

Karaoke, free-flowing alcohol, and Scott's communicator firmly confiscated in the Creighton-Ward manor to _ensure_ he didn't slip back into work habits meant that he was having the time of his _life_ , and Scott seemed to be enjoying himself, too. At least, if the gaggle of girls he'd acquired, flirting with him and being flirted with in kind, was anything to go by, his big brother was _definitely_ enjoying himself for once.

Unwilling to spend the entire night as the wingman, and definitely not interested in finding out if Scott managed to go further than just exchanging some smooth words, Gordon had found himself over by the pool table. He'd spent enough time in pubs – even if he'd been underage for most of it and Scott (probably) didn't know that – to be able to find entertainment with a group of strangers, so separating from his brother wasn't much of an issue.

He was _good_ at pool, too. Good enough to quickly work his way through the ranks until he was the champion everyone else paid to play, and all in all he was having a really good time of it. The drinks were good, the company was fantastic, and best of all, he was having a blast. Maybe later he'd drag Scott away from the girls for a game – show the Londoners exactly how good the Tracys were (and hope Scott was inebriated enough not to beat him, because Scott played a mean game sober).

At least, that was the _plan_. The world liked to mess with _plans_.

It started with raised voices. Nothing unusual in a pub, especially now it was entering late evening and the alcohol had been flowing for a _while_. Gordon thought nothing of it, and continued to roast his latest challenger at pool, beaming when the black ball found the pocket. Well-meant congratulations passed between the two of them – they had _manners_ , after all – and Gordon cast around for his next opponent.

Then the tingle ran up his spine, and immediately on its heels came a tap on his shoulder.

"Hey, bro," the guy – Dennis, Gordon had trounced him two games earlier to much laughter and another pint – started. "Didn't you come in with that guy?"

There was only one _that guy_ he'd come in with, and combined with his squid sense kicking in, Gordon had a sinking feeling as he turned to look at where he'd left Scott.

Just in time to see a bar stool smash into his head.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just Gordon's default reaction to seeing someone _smash a bar stool over his brother's head_ , but his vision went red. The pool cue dropped, but he paid no attention to where it landed, already surging forwards towards where his brother had crumpled to the floor.

Someone was laughing, someone else was screaming, but Gordon had eyes for only two things: his unmoving brother, and the guy still holding the bar stool aloft.

"Hey!" he roared, elbowing gawkers out of the way and slamming into the guy hard enough to make him loose his grip on the stool. It fell to the floor with a crash, thankfully missing Scott, followed by the man himself. Gordon kept his feet, feeling the buzz of alcohol mixing with adrenaline, and placed himself firmly between the aggressor and his brother.

Everyone else backed off; in his periphery Gordon could tell that the three of them – him, Scott and the stool-wielding asshole – were loosely ringed in by the other patrons of the pub, all looking on with varying emotions ranging from astonishment, fear, and bloodlust.

"You with 'im?" Stool-Bastard spat, pulling himself to his feet with a glower that was supposed to be intimidating. Gordon hadn't served in WASP to be cowed by a drunkard in a London pub.

"You attack him for a reason?" he shot back, hearing shuffling noises from directly behind him. Good, that sounded like Scott was conscious. The pleasant fuzz of alcohol was gone, leaving him as sharply aware as it was possible to be after however many drinks he'd had, and he tallied everything up as the guy snarled, swaying on the spot but not attacking. Not yet.

Tabs were all paid up; no need to worry about any unpaid drinks. No sign of the bouncers, but that could change any moment and a barfight was _not_ high on Gordon's list of reasons to get arrested (yes, he had one. No, his brothers didn't know about it). The nearest exit was… _there_ , by the group of girls Scott had been with.

If Scott was conscious, as he suspected, it wouldn't take much to get out of there. He just needed to not be attacked the moment he turned his back.

"'E was 'itting on my girl," the man snarled. Gordon had _many_ things to say to that, including the fact that Scott – even drunk – had morals and that if the guy didn't trust his girlfriend around other guys then maybe he should be looking for problems a little closer to home. He said none of them.

He didn't have to. The girls surged forward, arguing the point for him – good for them, and did he need to take note of their names to hand over to Lady P? – and he took the chance to crouch down and assess Scott's condition.

His brother had managed to drag himself up onto his elbows, one hand holding his head, and there was a scowl on his face. Blue eyes were dilated and a little unfocused, although how much of that was the alcohol as opposed to the knock, Gordon wasn't entirely certain.

"You good to stand up?" he asked, gently touching where Scott was holding his head. The dazed blue eyes blinked at him for a second, and his brother grimaced but tried to move. Gordon caught him when he swayed, wedging himself under one arm and dragging Scott's arm around his neck for support, wrapping a firm arm of his own around his brother's waist.

Dennis from pool came over, clearly offering help, but Gordon waved him off with a smile that was probably more strained than he'd planned.

"I got him," he said. "If you want to help, make sure that bastard doesn't get another hit in." He didn't want trouble – this was supposed to be a _relaxing_ downtime, dammit all – he just wanted to get Scott somewhere safe so he could check him over properly. Luckily, the man got the message and moved to stand so that he was blocking Stool-Bastard's view of them, leaving Gordon to haul his brother out the door.

No-one else stopped him, and with a few stumbles – Scott was _heavy,_ okay? – he got them over to a nearby bench, which Scott sank onto bonelessly. Gordon shot a quick message to Parker to come get them – fun night out was _over_ – before turning his attention to Scott.

"You with me?" he asked, keeping an arm around his shoulders and peering at the shock of brown hair resting on his shoulder. "Scott?"

"M'fcker," his brother slurred, sounding vaguely annoyed. He didn't move, though, seemingly content to remain slumped against Gordon's side and trust him to hold him up. It was just un-Scott-like enough for him to be a little worried, but he _had_ also been drinking and he wasn't entirely sure how much Scott had had. Nor had he actually ever seen Scott drunk before – at least, not without the buffer of Virgil and/or John to handle him. He vaguely recalled something about him being an affectionate drunk, though, so with any luck that was all that was.

Still, he ran his free hand through gelled hair, gently probing for signs of injury. Scott hissed when he reached the back of his head, where he'd seen the blow land, and Gordon explored the area lightly with his fingers. It didn't _seem_ like it was a bad knock – certainly not as bad as it _could_ have been, and he was starting to realise it had actually only been a glancing blow rather than the square hit he'd initially thought – but it could definitely do with some ice and painkillers, and he was pretty certain there was a minor concussion in there, too.

No amount of alcohol explained Scott's suddenly quiet and slightly lethargic attitude, when Gordon _knew_ he'd been laughing and flirting right before the attack. Virgil was going to be so pleased.

"Hey," he tried again, poking his cheek when he didn't get an instant response. "Talk to me, Scott. What happened back there?"

Scott groaned at him and buried his face further into his neck in an additional show of _drunk and concussed_. "D'nno," he muttered. Gordon felt more than heard the words. "M'fcker came'p 'hind me 'nd yelled sommat 'bouta girl. D'nno what. Then th'bast'd hit me."

A very small part of Gordon was amused at the filterless language. He knew Scott knew _how_ to cuss – he'd Served, the same as he had – but Big Brother also had a very strong grip on his language around family. To hear what was no doubt a throwback to the Air Force days was quietly satisfying. However, most of Gordon was a combination of furious and worried, in approximately equal measures. Maybe a little more worried than furious, but there was a large part of him that really wanted to show the guy why you never messed with a Tracy.

Fortunately for his PR, Scott needed him here, not embroiled in a fight or spending the night in a lockup, so he swallowed down the rage and pulled his brother a little bit closer.

"Anything hurt except your head?" he asked, brushing his fingers through his hair again. Scott shook his head then groaned.

"'m fine," he claimed, still not lifting his head from where it was buried in Gordon's neck. "St'p fussin'."

"I'll stop fussing once we're back at the manor and your head's been looked at properly," Gordon countered, to another groan. "How much did you drink?"

"Was'nly weak sh't," Scott told him. "Few p'ntsa cid'r." Enough to get buzzed but not enough to get blindly drunk, then.

A breeze blew past them, reminding Gordon that London was in England and therefore _cold_. Scott shivered just a bit – not enough to be noticed if he wasn't plastered against Gordon's side – and he tightened his grip again. Neither of them were dressed for the night air, not with the original plan being for them to remain _inside_ the pub until Parker arrived, and the thin jacket Gordon did have on wouldn't fit his brother, even if he could peel him off long enough to shuck it.

"Not the best end to an evening," he mused instead, rubbing at the denim jacket Scott had on in a vain attempt to give him a little more warmth.

"C'n say thattag'n," Scott agreed, burrowing into his side even more. Gordon assumed he was trying to leech body heat. "S'posed t'be fun."

"Well we've got all of tomorrow to lounge around the manor," Gordon reminded him, spying a flash of pink approaching at speed. "You know that'll be fun."

"W'th _this_ h'ngov'r?" Scott complained. Gordon winced – he had a point.

"It'll be _fine_ ," he promised, letting go of his brother with one hand to flag Parker down. "Water and painkillers and you'll be good as new." Depending on the severity of the concussion, that _might_ be stretching it a bit. Scott was definitely going to be off duty for more than another day, though.

FAB1 pulled to a stop next to them and Parker jumped out, eyes sharp and alert as he took in their condition.

"Trouble, sirs?"

"Someone took a swing at Scott with a bar stool," Gordon admitted, prodding his brother. Parker's eyes narrowed and he suspected Stool-Bastard might find his own brand of trouble later, once Parker was convinced they were safe. The man seemed to have a soft spot for Scott – hell knew he didn't have one for _Gordon_ , despite his best efforts to the contrary. "C'mon, Scott. Let's get you in the car." His brother groaned but at least made a token effort to stand up, freeing Gordon long enough for him to get to his own feet and haul Scott up. Parker slid around to Scott's other side without waiting to be asked, and between them they helped him stagger into the back seat, where he promptly slumped again. Gordon slid in beside him and was immediately reclaimed as a pillow, which he resisted long enough to make sure they were both strapped in before allowing Scott to bury his head in his neck again.

"'Ow 'is 'e?" Parker asked as he slipped back into the driver's seat and pulled away from the curb. Gordon caught sight of him looking at them in the rear view mirror and offered a tight grin.

"Minor concussion," he answered, running his hand through Scott's hair again, to a quiet noise that could have been either complaint or contentment. "He also drunk enough to get buzzed, so I'm not entirely sure how much of _this-_ " he shrugged at the big brother draped against him "-is that."

"Hmm." Parker sounded unconvinced, but did at least return his attention to the road.

Gordon glanced down at his brother and poked him lightly.

"You'd better not be falling asleep on me, Scott," he warned.

"'M n't," came the muffled response. "W'k m'up wh'n we g't therr."

"Scott, no," Gordon scolded, shrugging his shoulder and forcibly peeling his brother off of him. "You're concussed. Don't sleep."

The baleful glare he got was pretty pathetic, on the Scott scale, but his brother huffed in defeat.

"F'n," he grumbled. Gordon caught his head when he attempted to bury it in his neck – _again_ – and guided it to rest normally on his shoulder.

"We'll have a proper look at the manor," he promised. "Then you can rest."

Scott huffed, but didn't close his eyes again. He did, however, wrap an arm around Gordon in a tight grip, which he returned in kind.

"Are you always this cuddly when you're drunk?" he asked. The grumble he got wasn't a coherent answer, but the way Scott purposefully looked away _was_. Gordon laughed. "That explains why you don't go out drinking with us much. Do any of the others know this?"

"Shuddup," Scott grumped. It was a shame he was also concussed, otherwise the blackmail would have been glorious.

Aw, who was he kidding. As soon as Scott came out the other side clear, it was totally acceptable blackmail. For now, though, he was content to hold onto his brother while Parker drove them back to the manor, more than a little relieved it hadn't been worse.

So much for a relaxing night out with his brother.

**Author's Note:**

> I did some art for it, too!


End file.
